I had the word "Vegas" written on my arm, and because it was written in silver highlighter, I could barely make it out. Maybe a more accurate description is that there were silver letters resembling the word "Vegas" on my left forearm, and the countless black hairs that forested there made it a bit difficult to read.
Now "Vegas" could mean one of two things. First, it might mean that Las Vegas was were I was heading before I forgot the who, what, and where of me.
Or, it might mean that my dog named Vegas was somehow linked to all of this. After all, I knew she could spell, because when I said that maybe it was time for a "WALK" — with each letter individually spoken, she would go grab the leash and a plastic bag in her mouth, plunk them by the front door, and sit, waiting.